


give up the ghost

by hikaie



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cheesy, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Sharing Clothes, non-cult AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 07:19:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaie/pseuds/hikaie
Summary: Beneath her cheek the pillow is cool. She kicks down the blanket, rolls blearily out of the bed over the pillows, until she’s stumbling free. Blackout curtains don’t let her tell what time of day it is, but the clock on the nightstand proclaims 11:27 in neon lights.He let her stay the night.





	give up the ghost

**Author's Note:**

> me: i'm just not sure how to capture his voice  
> friend: dig deep into your inner slut

Waking comes slowly, almost luxuriously. In fits and starts, really, because the first few times she wakes up she resettles herself in the plush bedding and nods right back off. It’s not until much later, her body foggy with sleep and the aches of the previous night, that she finally fully comes to. The first thing she’s aware of is how warm she is, duvet crimped under her armpit and sticking to the backs of her knees. Beneath her cheek the pillow is cool. She kicks down the blanket, rolls blearily out of the bed over the pillows, until she’s stumbling free. Blackout curtains don’t let her tell what time of day it is, but the clock on the nightstand proclaims 11:27 in neon lights.

_He let her stay the night_.

Rook settles herself back against the edge of the bed. Outside of the blankets is much cooler, almost too cold. She’s got her underwear on and not much else. Looking around finds her clothes from the previous night draped thoughtfully over the armchair tucked into the corner. Her heart throbs something sweetly painful in her chest. Now she remembers this morning, his hand a warm line down her spine and his mouth against her cheek, her ear.

_“Good morning. I hate to leave but…”_

_She’d stretched against his hand. “Work, right. I’ll get up, just five more minutes…”_

She touches her neck absently, presses with intent at the skin until she feels acutely the marks he’d left there. A smile sneaks onto her mouth- unintended, dreamy, like she’s some schoolgirl. Being- courted?- by John Seed hadn’t been in the plan, when she’d moved to Montana. She’d had some experience in law enforcement, and caught wind of a job opportunity that would take her far away from her family and out of her comfort zone. They’d crossed paths a few times- a call to his ranch when a cow from a neighboring farm had broken through the fence and run across his airstrip, another time in court when she’d been on the escort team to Missoula. It’s funny- in retrospect, he’d been all disdain and snark, but things had certainly changed. It’s her uniform, draped over his armchair, duty belt piled atop the tea table beside it. Her gun-

_“You can leave it in the safe.”_

_She flinches. John is sitting on the edge of the bed, had been carefully undoing the clasp of his watch. His eyes are on her as she hesitates in undressing, her earlier fervor gone as she contemplates where to put her gun. No place in the room makes her feel comfortable, as much as she trusts John in this moment- nothing makes her feel okay with setting it down just any old place. The fact that her nerves had been so obvious embarrasses her._

_“It’s fine, I can-”_

_“Really.” He rises from the bed, sets aside his watch on the nightstand as he goes. “I’d feel… much better, if you did.” He wraps his hand around her wrist loosely, makes an apologetic face. As if he’s inconveniencing her in any way._

The house still feels empty, the kind of yawning air and quiet that means no one else is around. _He’d let her stay_. Mouth soft on her ear, reassuring her to go back to sleep. She remembers. She also remembers, quite suddenly, that he’d picked her up at the station after work. “Fuck.” Her exclamation is said to exactly no one, swallowed up by the empty house.

When she grabs her phone off the nightstand to text him, she’s pleasantly surprised to find one waiting for her. (Also waiting: a missed call from Nick, and a missed text from Sharky, that includes only three eggplant emojis and one winking face emoji. She regrets talking to Sharky about _most_ things, but John is often top of the list.)

_John 09:37  
I think I can manage to make it home around noon._

She feels like she woke up just in time and simultaneously much too late.

**so you can take me home?**

_John 11:32  
My, my. Good morning sleeping beauty._

**you have no clue what i look like right now**

_John 11:33  
I don’t need to see you to know._

**you can turn the bullshit charm off at any time**

_John 11:35_  
You wound me!  
Yes, I’ll take you home.  
Lunch, as well?

**okay**  
**wait youre not texting me while youre driving are you?**  
 **i know how far away missoula is john**

_John 11:40  
See you soon!_

She shoots off a few angry emojis but receives no response, which is all for the best. Makes her paranoid, but she’d rather he stop texting.

Not quite wanting to get dressed in her uniform, she rifles through the dresser just inside John’s closet until she comes out triumphant. As much as he likes to put on sophisticated airs, he adores comfort above all else- well-worn t-shirt and smooth, heavy sweatpants are an easy find. She indulges in the adjoined bathroom; left alone, she sees no reason not to take advantage. It’s her first opportunity to really _use_ the shower, which has no less than three heads. Rook makes good money but she doesn’t make _successful lawyer_ money.

She’s just coming downstairs, folded uniform in hand, when she hears the door open in the kitchen. John is whistling, and she can hear his keys jingle briefly- probably hanging them on the hook next to the door.

“You wanna let me into the safe?” Rook asks as she rounds the corner from the hall. It must still be cold out- he’s shrugging off his jacket, hanging it up next to where hers hangs on the stand. Where she left it, two weeks ago, during the last snow they’d had. Something twists in her. She’d been missing her jacket- John had shoved his on her between the station and the car when she’d complained last night.

“Of course.” He rounds on her then, all easy smiles. He falters on his first step towards her, blinks. All she’s done is set her clothes on the island, but it makes her rethink the action, fingers curling around her duty belt to pick it back up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I-” His throat works and he musters another smile up. “You showered?”

Oh, no. “I’m sorry, I thought… well.” She blushes. “I didn’t think you would mind.”

“I don’t!” He says it too quickly, so that she gets suspicious, but he crosses the kitchen quickly and kisses her. Just a brief one, but he tucks a hand around her elbow, stays her hand. “Your hair is still wet.”

“Yeah?” She pulls back and laughs. “Are you alright?”

John looks pained, but in the same way as when she’s drinking coffee and he’s five seconds from asking why she didn’t bring him one. Not like he’s angry. “It’s cold out. We shouldn’t leave just yet- you might get sick.”

“That’s a myth.” Turning from him, she rearranges her belt into the careful spool she’d been working it into. “Besides, it’s not like I’ll be hanging my head out the window. Your truck has working heat.”

“Are you so eager to run off?”

“I thought you were taking me to lunch.”

“We can eat here.” His hand has slipped from her elbow to her hip.

“When did you learn how to cook? Or _shop_ for that matter? The only things in your fridge are coffee creamer and-” His hand has slipped from her hip _under_ her pants.

“We can order in.” Now he’s smiling, when she looks at him, caught open-mouthed in the middle of her sentence.

“Papa Johns is the only place that will deliver here.” She murmurs. John laughs and pulls her in, or leans into her- maybe both.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go if you let me peel _my_ pants off of you and eat you out.”

Rook swallows loudly. The edge of a barstool is digging into her opposite hip, and John is sliding his hand down low, low to cup her ass. “Bit of a fetish there?”

John laughs again. His eyes bounce from hers, to her mouth, down to the stretch of his t-shirt across her chest. He’s a trim man and she’s, well, _not_. The feel of his gaze on her is always so searing that she nearly flinches under it. Rook definitely squirms and feels him pinch her ass in response. She notices he’s not denying her accusation.

“John?”

“Hm?” His sweatpants are too big on her and are slipping down past his hand. Rook burns at the feeling of air on her skin and shuffles her feet.

“We’re kind of in the kitchen.”

“What better place to enjoy a meal?”

“Oh.” She closes her eyes and winces. “That was pretty bad. Like, opposite of a turn-on bad.”

“Apologies.” Yet she can still hear the smile in his voice. His other hand finds hers and he corrals her toward the open archway that leads from the kitchen into the den.

“Can’t make it to the bedroom?”

“Mm, no, I find you’re already testing my patience far too much.” Rook smiles, beside herself. Last night had certainly been a whirlwind- the pent up tension of seeing each other for months, of heavy petting cut short far too many times- but this is different. He really _looks_ like he’s going to devour her. Fervent lovemaking in his ridiculously comfortable bed is one thing, but an impromptu afternoon delight in his den is entirely another. Maybe she’s opened a can of worms.

John pushes her down onto the couch and sinks onto his knees after her, leaning up to kiss her briefly. It’s scorching, a demanding press that has her searching after him when he pulls away. “We could just do that.” She gasps.

His hands are back on her hips and his eyes are dancing with mirth. “Plenty of time for that later, don’t you think?” But when she leans in he obliges her with a slow, wet, open-mouthed kiss. He keeps drawing back so that she has to push forward, until she’s settling her hands on his shoulders and holding him in place. In the mean time he’s managed to inch the sweatpants down her thighs. The waistband is stretched over them- he’s too impatient, it seems. She smiles against his mouth.

“Remember that these are _your_ clothes.”

“I’m fully aware.” He tugs and she draws up her knees so the backside of the hem slips down. The elastic slaps against the backs of her calves, and John bites her bottom lip at the same time so that she gasps. “They can be replaced.”

Rook grabs at his shoulders and drags him closer. He falls against the cradle of her body, hips slotting between her thighs. Her face is warm, warming considerably more as his pants dangle from her ankles. His hands sweep up her legs and pull her closer to the edge of the couch, until just the tips of her toes are touching the hardwood between his parted knees. The chill of the floor makes her jerk, or it might be the way John is biting her jaw and pushing her shirt up.

“No underwear but you’re wearing a bra?” His voice is low and amused next to her ear.

“The reusability factor differs a lot between the two.” She runs a hand through his carefully styled hair and he chuckles.

“Fair enough.” John pulls back and runs a single finger down the center of her torso. Chills race across her skin. Rook shifts under his scrutiny and tugs on his hair so he looks up at her face.

“Hey. Kiss me again.” He smiles, and leans in. She’s thinking he’s going to keep indulging her but instead his mouth finds a place beneath where the underwire of her bra digs in, leaving a wet trail of kisses over her stomach.

“Not what I meant.”

“You didn’t specify.” He mumbles against the skin of her pelvis. When he looks up at her it’s with blown out pupils, icy blue nearly swallowed by black. It stills her. Her breath catches in her chest and she curls her fingers against the downy suede of the couch. It’s not just that he looks hungry- _ravenous_ might be a better term. Like he wants to consume her, own her. She feels she might let him.

Rook licks her lips. “Can we go to that diner in the Whitetails I like?”

John’s smile is devious as he pulls back and considers her thighs. His hands are suspiciously still on them. “I did say anywhere.”

She hooks her ankle up against his bank and presses. “Better get to it, then. I’m hungry.”

His eyes light up and his grin grows, and his hands come to life on her thighs, pressing them apart until she’s on display for him.

“So am I.”


End file.
